Lock Down: a vignette

I have a decent enough memory and like most people, it is sharpened under times of stress and fear. In this case though, I have memory and journal entries from a few years ago in a little prison called Victorville FCI. Reading these again, some of them give me chills and some bring me right back to the kind of anxiety that makes it hard to sleep: starvation and deprivation of physical and mental nourishment, things that bring back those questions of laws like "aren't we supposed to get sunlight more than once every few months?" AND wondering what DOES constitute cruelty (the unusual being checked by the lack of showers and being stuck in a bathroom with another human being for a month with no reprieve)?

This lockdown was not my first and wasn't my last by a long shot, but it is among the most poignant.

From the moment I saw guards running across the yard and heard the keys jingling, I knew it was going to be bad. THE sound of the keys when they're hustling for a fight or an inmate dying of a heart attack is not the same frantic jangle when they're running full speed. That means a staff assault and that means a long lockdown. Instantly, my mind is running to my locker and how much food I have or DON'T have and how long I can go without coffee.

Last time a guard was assaulted, it was because he called someone a bitch in front of his gang member friends. Everyone here believes that’s one of the worst things you can call someone (seriously!) and believe me when I say that if he didn’t attack, his gang member friends will smash him bad if he doesn't do something about it. Tough choices.

The current situation though, didn't seem all that bad. The cops were already leaving the unit and from what I could see lying face down on the concrete, there was only one inmate, and he was walking out, not being carried. So we all were speculating as we were told to stand, hands behind our heads... maybe it wasn't so bad.

After an hour locked in, they turned off the TVs in the dayroom. That is the indicator of how severe the administration deems the situation. Remember, the perpetrator was walked away in cuffs. This is almost exclusively the case. The yards are covered with cameras AND rats, so nothing goes unseen or unheard.

Most people could understand a security lock down for a few hours to make sure nothing is happening and that is the putative reason they lock us down. They'll never admit to it being punishment and I suspect its illegal to do it FOR that reason. But they turn off the TVs and that gives them away every time. They enjoy it.

A week of no news locked in the cell. We're pulled into offices in cuffs, one at a time, for interviews by the staff. "Do you know about the incident?" "Do you know of any weapons on the yard?" Things like that. WE rarely know why we're locked down till after were off lockdown and sometimes not even then. I tell them this more often than not, but to them everything we say is a lie. They do operate on the assumption that were all conspiring better than most guerrilla military groups and somehow they are kept in the dark. They give us too much credit. See the "inmate congress" entry if you want my wise-ass assessment.

So the rats tell them whatever they want or need to hear in the interviews and we start starving. Another week passes. They hand out memos saying they are coming to search. "Put your assigned 3 shirts, 3 pants, 5 pairs of underwear, etc.. on the bed. The rest will be taken. Any property that can't fit in a trash bag will be thrown out. 5 books per inmate." This is not policy, just a punishment for something no one even knows why. And why take books?! What could be wrong with that? What is the security risk? Easy answer: they want us to hurt. They want us angry and frustrated and bored.

At the end of the 3rd week, every sound my celly makes irritates me and seems calculated to drive me insane. We were friends a few short weeks ago. Im sure its the same for him. We're out of coffee and on starvation rations (1700 calories a day, give or take. I know this because I worked in the fitness industry, so I am a whip at averaging out these things), running low on food. My neighbors had a lot of store before the lockdown and are kind enough to send me extra little bags of pretzels and fake cheese so I'm not doing too bad. That is, "send me" by smashing it and sliding on strings under the door and when the cops don't catch it and throw it away. They like that.

At the beginning I was a lean 215 lbs. I ended a month long lockdown at a little below 200 lbs. Many had it much worse. When I told a medical staff member afterwards, she laughed and said "we only have to keep you alive, not fat." She said it by rote, as if this was among the many times shed made her joke. I didn't think it was funny.

For my own frustration I guess, I had a conversation with a guard of no consequence. I wanted to understand their stance. I told him I still didn't know why we were locked down because Id heard 3 separate stories by staff. One of them was actually the reason we were locked down the previous time! He rambled about security and then after a few questions he blurted out, "what are we just supposed to do? Not punish anyone!?" Back to the inmate congress. I asked him how I should behave next time so I didn't get punished. He blinked and stormed off. This is how we're treated pretty regularly. I long for the days when I can be held responsible for just MY actions.

WE were locked down, punished, starved on many levels, subjected to the worst treatment legally (and otherwise) allowed for humans because, we heard... "while performing a pat-down, the officer slid his hand into the inmate's pocket who swatted the officer's hand away." That's all we ever heard on that and it may very well have been made up.

We’ll never know if it was to keep the officer from finding something in his pocket or maybe the officer was a little too... sensual in his search. I’m sorry to say I’ve had that experience. Maybe I'll find out one day.